The curly black and the straight blonde. We are the Capulet and Montague of hair. My brother and dad, curly black like twisty pieces of black licorice. Be careful, though, because if you may get lost in his curly black locks. He can’t even comb it. My mother, sister, and I straight and blonde like angel hair pasta.

My brother’s hair, though, my brother’s hair. Its like he’s at a disco, he’s the special fiber-optic spinning globe and each strand of hair is pointing at someone on the dance floor. When his hair is wet, it drops down to his shoulders like a Greek god. He runs, but his hair doesn’t keep up with him, stubbornly staying behind while he presses on.

My brother hair is feathery and full, you don’t see it like that now days. Just like his father too, he has a thick chocolaty mustache that not many other people can see, but he prides himself on.